


Trust Fall

by Sylvermage



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Because there isn't enough Sorey/Dezel friendship out there, Drama, Even Dezel isn't immune to Sorey's charms, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers for basically everything to do with Dezel, Spoilers up to the Fire Trial
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-09-16 12:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16953717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvermage/pseuds/Sylvermage
Summary: An encounter with a powerful hellion separates Dezel and Sorey from the rest of the group. Alone, and with an injured Shepherd in his care, Dezel surprises himself with what he’s willing to risk to return them both to safety.Humans, particularly this one, are nothing but trouble after all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I take absolutely no credit for the 'Shae Monyuroze' line. That conversation is straight from one of my favourite skits XD

**Chapter 1**

**Dezel POV**

Aifread’s hunting ground was a myriad of sounds, smells, and sensation. No longer restrained by the lowlands of Pearloats Pasture, the wind gusted across the open fields, whistling merrily among the high rocky outcroppings, skimming through the short grasses and shrubbery, and carrying with it the scent and sounds of the sea pounding against the cliffs below. 

This was a place where the wind was free, strong, and feral, tugging at the party’s clothes and whipping their hair around their faces. A wind seraph should have felt quite at home here.

And yet, Dezel found himself on edge. One pendulum swung in idle arcs about his hand as he tried to pinpoint the source of his unease. This was the group’s first time here, and any area that had yet to be blessed by a Lord of the Land or the Shepherd’s domain tended to radiate malevolence a bit more strongly than areas where they had spent some time. Simply by entering an area, Sorey was able to chase away some of its defilement.

Here in the Hunting Grounds, however, the malevolence seemed denser than it ought to be in the Shepherd’s presence. There was a heavy scent of malice beneath the bright sunshine and the green shrubbery, something he felt even beyond the wind’s whispering in his ears.

Nevertheless, he kept his musings to himself. Dezel wasn’t much of a seraph, by his own admission, and if he could sense the malevolence this strongly, Rose and the others had to be aware of it as well. It certainly wasn’t strong enough to indicate the presence of the Lord of Calamity—they’d stumbled into his domain before, and the weight of it had made it hard to walk, or even breathe.

This was simply another piece of land in need of blessing. They’d cleanse the area of hellions, maybe try and track down a seraph naïve enough to agree to be the Lord of the Land for this area, and the corruption would be lifted. It was what they did.

He heard Rose call his name. Following her voice, he realized she was standing near a patch of thorny highland shrubbery, Sorey at her side. A butterfly fluttered amongst the bushes, its wings sending delicate vibrations through the air.

Still swinging his pendulum lightly between his fingers, he answered, “What?”

“Do you know what kind of butterfly this is?”

Oh for…Dezel was beginning to regret having ever told them about that beetle in the Volgran forest. From the tempo of its wingbeat, the wingspan, and the general environment, he was reasonably sure he knew what it was, but… “I’m not your personal encyclopedia.”

Rose flashed him her most winsome smile—he could hear it in her voice. “Aw, don’t be like that. Professor Dezel, pleeeeease?”

Dezel didn’t bite. “Do I  _ look _ like a professor?” he deadpanned.

Sorey tilted his head curiously. “What’s got you so butterfly crazy all of a sudden?”

“Don’t you know? Collectors pay primo cash for these suckers,” Rose said excitedly, “They stick ‘em up on their walls with pins or something.”

“With…pins?” Sorey echoed, his voice vaguely horrified.

Dezel shuddered. He’d never understood the perverse human need to immortalize nature by killing it, preserving it, and mounting it on display. Couldn’t they just enjoy it while it was alive?

Oblivious to their discomfort, Rose began taking stealthy steps into the underbrush. “Welp, we may never know what you are, little dude, but I oughta bag you just in case….”

_ That girl! _ She was just as much merchant as she was assassin…always trying to sniff out a sale. “Wait!” Dezel said suddenly, “I just realized…It’s a Shae Monyuroze. It looks like a butterfly, but it’s just a moth.”

Rose slumped, her disappointment evident. “Aw, a moth? Nobody’s gonna pay for that…” Immediately disenchanted, she began to walk away from the patch of bushes, catching up with Lailah and the others, who had continued a little ways up the path.

“Darn. Too bad,” Dezel said flatly to her retreating back.

Sorey, however, seemed to have noticed his little trick. “A…Shae…Monyuroze?” he muttered, sounding out the name for himself. He suddenly turned in Dezel’s direction. “Oh!”

_ Busted. _ “Shush,” Dezel hushed him, tilting his hat to hide the grin threatening at the corners of his mouth.

“Heh heh heh, got it,” Sorey chuckled quietly, the wind carrying his amusement and conspiratorial grin to Dezel’s senses, “Moth.” Straightening, the Shepherd turned in the direction of the cliff’s edge overlooking the water. “Hey, look at that!” He took off at a run. With a shrug, Dezel followed him at a more sedate pace. If there was a ruin down there, the fool was likely to throw himself right over the edge and consider the consequences later.

He needn’t have worried. Sorey came to a halt a safe distance from the precipice. “Way over there, across the water…there’s some kind of structure. It must be huge for us to see it from here!”

Dezel didn’t have to ask what he was pointing at – the wind carried the monument’s song with a clarity he’d never heard before. “That must be the Wind Trial Shrine.”

“Huh? Really?”

“Yeah. No mistaking it. Coming from that direction…it must be somewhere near Westernbolt Gorge.”

Sorey shuffled forward a little bit, crouching at the tip of the ledge; Dezel resisted the urge to step on the end of his Shepherd’s cloak in case his eagerness got the better of him. “Guess we’ve got a ways to go before we get there.” He sat quietly for a few moments, no doubt envisioning the ruins and other ancient secrets they’d encounter between then and now. “Hey…Dezel…”

“Yeah?”

“Do you…Does this area feel more heavily tainted to you?” Sorey stretched out an arm before him, passing it slowly through the air. “I don’t know why, but the malevolence just seems…really thick here.” He pressed a hand to the front of his cloak. “Is it just me?”

Dezel leaned back, letting the wind brush across his face and over his unseeing eyes. “It’s not just you. I noticed it when we walked into this area, and I’m sure Lailah and the others did too. Something here is breeding malevolence.”

“It is possible that there is a Crucible or some other such focus generating malevolence in this area,” Lailah chimed in from behind them. Dezel could hear the drag of her skirts, Mikleo’s light step, Edna’s solid tread. Behind them, Rose’s hair beads clacked faintly in the breeze. “We should be cautious…a concentration like this is likely to breed stronger—Oh!”

The domain came down so quickly it seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. What had at first been just a taste at the back of his mouth suddenly became a heavy, cloying stench, clinging to his skin and invading his senses. From above, he heard a harsh screech. 

Mikleo’s mouth dropped open. “Is—is that a dragon?!”

Edna’s parasol snapped open and closed in agitation. “Please, Meebo, you’ve seen a real dragon for yourself, haven’t you? This is just a baby.”

“A drake,” Dezel confirmed, then skipped backwards. “Incoming!”

A gout of fire burst forth, scattering the group. Sorey rolled forward away from the edge, narrowly dodging the small fires that ignited in the dry grass. “Well, that certainly explains the malevolence in this area. Isn’t it kind of strong for just a baby dragon, though?”

Lailah’s scraps of paper were already out, dancing in the air and set aflame at her will. “If its been bathed in the malevolence of a Crucible, there’s no telling how strong its domain could have become! We must purify it!” She spun, scattering her papers about her. “Pyrogenic Ring!”

They hemmed the dragon in, surrounding it on all sides. Mikleo spun his staff about his hand, a gentle mist following and putting out the grassfires before they could spread and hem them in. 

Edna twirled about, her ridiculous parasol weapon extended, before launching herself into the air, conjuring a miniature snowstorm. She didn’t seem to be struggling to inflict damage as much as the rest of them, and when her booted feet touched down, launching spires of rock into the drake’s underbelly, the hellion tossed its head and shrieked.

“Hit it with earth,” the small seraph advised, her tone bored. “It didn’t seem to like that.”

“ _ Most _ things don’t like being  _ impaled with rock _ , Edna,” Mikleo replied, but he followed suit, Ice Reaver snapping its frigid jaws against the dragon’s weaker underside. 

Rose attacked the tendons in its legs, trying to break through its tough skin. It snarled and slashed at her with its claws, and she skittered back out of the way. The beat of her movements seemed off, Dezel realized, her strikes too slow. He turned his attention to Sorey, charging forward with the flames of purification streaming from his sword and heard his laboured breathing; the weight of the drake’s domain was taking its toll on both humans.

His pendulums unfurling with a snap, Dezel lashed out at the drake’s face, flicking the metal ends at its eyes. The drake simply reared back out of range, his weapons’ sharp edges barely scraping the leathery skin. He attempted to force it back further with a cyclone, trying to clear a path to Rose’s side, but the hellion simply brushed it off. Thelong, whip-like tail whistled overhead, and he windrushed out of its path.

“Don’t get reckless, Dezel!” Sorey called.

Scowling, Dezel retreated a few steps further and began casting Geostigma. “Watch your own ass,” he snapped back.

Edna’s Gravitrigger exploded beneath the hellion, and it shrieked in a maddened rage, limbs flailing, tainted blood weeping from its many wounds. 

Then several things happened in quick succession.

“Now! Let’s go!” Sorey shouted, slashing at the weakened drake’s body. “Fethmus Mi—”

His words were cut off as the writhing hellion caught him a heavy blow with one clawed foot. Dezel heard the breath leave his body in a retching cough as the Shepherd crashed to the ground, skidding to the lip of the precipice. Mikleo shouted Sorey’s name in a panicked cry, but the hellion prevented any approach, thrashing and hammering its feet and tail against the ground. The earth beneath their feet trembled violently under the force.

Edna whipped about to face them, rare alarm in her voice. “Get away from there! The ground is going to give way!” 

Dezel gathered the wind at his heels, intending to windrush away from the edge of the cliff, but Sorey remained on his knees. One hand was pressed to his hip and he leaned heavily on his sword. Cursing, Dezel changed direction and windrushed towards him, just as the ground beneath Sorey crumbled. 

Skidding to a halt just short of the jagged edge, Dezel lashed out with a pendulum. Sorey jerked to a stop and crashed back against the cliff face, the chain of Dezel’s weapon wrapped about his arm from wrist to elbow. Leaning back to brace himself, Dezel let the breeze from below wash over his face. The air currents around Sorey betrayed no movement; probably stunned. 

And something else…the scent of blood. Dezel grimaced.  _ Damn. _

A warning cry drew his attention back to the fight, and he felt the air at his back grow hot. The wind gathered at his will, spiralling into a cyclone and blasting apart the torrent of flame roaring towards him. That was the last straw for the weakened overhang, and it disintegrated beneath his boots. He snapped his free pendulum back to his hand, but the wind was cacophony of sounds and sensations—crumbling rock, rushing air, alarmed voices, the drake’s roar—overwhelming his senses and making it impossible to find a safe anchor. 

Amidst their companions’ shouts of dismay, both wind seraph and Shepherd tumbled over the brink and plummeted to the jagged coastline far, far below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve played Zestiria as far as the Wind Trial, you’ll know that there’s a scene where Dezel and Sorey rescue a woman, after which Sorey gives Dezel this little smile, which he returns. I found myself wondering, how did we get there? Since when did Dezel care what Sorey thought of him?
> 
> This fic is my answer.
> 
> tl;dr: “These characters don’t have enough interaction. YEET!” XD  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**Dezel POV**

When the ringing in his ears stopped, the first thing Dezel noticed was that the sound of the water was louder.  Dislodged clumps of earth and stone continued to skitter down the cliff walls nearby. He was lying on his back on the beach below the cliffs. The sand and rock beneath him had been blasted into a shallow crater.  The air was moist and laden with salt, and he could feel the sun on his unshaded face. Lifting one hand,  he threaded his fingers through his bangs and grazed something damp and sticky just beneath his hairline. One pendulum lay curled beneath his hand; the other was cast out, still wrapped around the arm of the cloaked figure lying unmoving on his side a few feet away.

Dezel rolled onto to his feet with a groan, collecting his untethered pendulum. After the cliff had broken, he had yanked Sorey into his arms and cast the strongest whirlwind he could muster in an effort to break their fall. His desperate gambit seemed to have been effective: despite taking brunt of the landing, it seemed nothing had been broken.  

He felt for the currents of air atop the cliffs: they’d fallen pretty far. The drake’s domain was weaker down here, although he could still feel its malevolence like oil on his skin, and he could neither make out the beast’s cries nor the voices of any of the rest of their group, even with his heightened hearing. Out of habit, he reached up for his hat, frowning when his hand brushed against his hair instead. 

“They better have gotten Rose out of there,” he muttered to himself. Fighting a hellion that strong without the protection of the Shepherd’s domain was idiocy.

And speaking of the Shepherd…

Dezel followed his outstretched pendulum chain until he encountered Sorey’s crumpled form, then carefully rolled the Shepherd onto his back so he could begin unwinding the weapon from his arm. His expression darkened as he realized that the smell of blood had gotten stronger.

“You gonna sleep all day, Sorey?” Tucking the coiled pendulum away, he reached out to shake the human’s shoulder firmly. “Hey, Sorey. Hey.” 

Sorey didn’t stir. Dezel grimaced. “Crap.” Stripping off his gloves, he began the task of investigating the extent of the boy’s injuries.

With uncharacteristic gentleness, Dezel carefully ran his hands through Sorey’s feathery hair and over his face and neck. The human’s pulse thrummed solid and strong, and Dezel found nothing more serious than a few scratches on his face. Apparently he hadn’t hit his head on the way down. 

“Good thing--you’re weird enough as it is,” he told the unconscious Shepherd. 

He encountered his first serious problem as he ran his hands over the boy’s shoulders: Sorey’s left shoulder was at an abnormal angle.  _ Probably should have expected that _ , Dezel admitted, recalling the jolt as he’d arrested Sorey’s fall up on the clifftop. Reaching under the Shepherd’s cloak and shirt, he found the muscle beneath hot to the touch, although it didn’t feel like the shoulder was all the way out of the socket. Still, kinder to set it while he was still out. Less screaming that way.

Carefully levering Sorey into a sitting position, he wrapped one arm around his back to keep him there, then gently bent the elbow of the dislocated arm and brought it close to Sorey’s body. Somewhere in his hazy memories, he could hear Lafarga’s calming voice telling him to relax as he’d performed a similar treatment on a much younger Dezel, who’d had the misfortune to cross an irate Wild Boar and had come out of the encounter with a popped shoulder.

“Guess you can’t get much more relaxed than unconscious,” Dezel said aloud, raising the bent arm until he heard the ‘pop’ of the shoulder joint settling back into alignment, “Which is lucky for you, because I’m not big on bedside manner.”

_ Not like him _ , he thought, tasting the rush of anger and regret that always accompanied thoughts of his friend and mentor. The wind stirred about them uneasily.  _ Focus _ , he snarled.

His healing skills had never been impressive, but he gathered what curative energy he could muster and pushed it into the damaged muscle until he felt the inflammation vanish. Hoping that would be good enough, he continued his assessment, trying to find the source of the scent of blood. 

He didn’t have far to go: a long, jagged tear ran across Sorey’s right thigh, starting at the hip and curving down towards the inside of his knee. Though not very deep, it was almost three hand-lengths long, and maybe two fingers wide. The boy’s pant leg was soaked through with dark blood. Dezel let out a low whistle. 

“Damn. You must’ve moved some fast, kid. That thing could have taken your leg clean off.” He extended a hand over it, probing at it with the wind, and scowled. This was more than he had skill to heal. What was worse, the wound felt…off. Tainted, possibly. It would likely resist healing. 

“Never make things easy, do you.” Leaning over Sorey’s leg, he poured his power into the wound, willing the bleeding to stop and the skin to knit.  Sorey shifted slightly, a small, pained sound escaping him as a shadow seemed to writhe beneath the surface of his skin. Dezel felt the malevolence leach out towards him, disrupting his seraphic arte. He scowled with annoyance, but there was nothing he could do; only Sorey or Lailah could purify a tainted wound. Instead, he abandoned the idea of sealing the gash and concentrating only on halting the flow of blood. Even accomplishing that much made his hands shake with effort, a dull pounding starting up somewhere behind his eyes. 

When he was satisfied that the Shepherd wasn’t about to bleed out any time soon, he tore apart what remained of Sorey’s bloody pant leg and bound the wound as tight as he dared. As he tied off the makeshift bandage, he heard faint murmurs of awareness coming from his patient.

“About time,” he muttered, and sat back on his heels, exhausted for the moment. Healing was a task better left to water and earth seraphim, those who had stronger connections to the blood and elements of the body. The best he could offer was to take the edge off the damage. “No complaining to Mikleo that I didn’t take care of you, alright?” Standing, he strode towards the edge of the shore. “Try to stay in one piece for a few minutes.”

The seawater was free of malevolence, at least. Dezel rinsed the Shepherd’s blood from his hands and washed the dirt and blood from his own face, running wet fingers through the mats in his bangs before pulling his gloves back on. He was relieved to find his hat among the cliff debris that had been blasted aside by his last-ditch wind spell. Dusting off the precious item with care, he replaced it on his head. Then he stood still a moment and let the wind speak.

There was no way to return to Aifread’s Hunting Grounds from where they currently stood. The cliffs overhead were too sheer to attempt a climb back to the top, even disregarding the damage to Sorey’s leg. And even if they could manage the climb, the would likely be spotted by the drake hellion and attacked while they were vulnerable and exposed. They’d been fortunate the first time; Dezel didn’t care to test his luck twice.

No, the best plan was probably to hike along the rock face and try to find a path to return to Pearloats Pasture. Even with the Squire and the Prime Lord, it was unlikely the others would be able to overcome the hellion’s domain, so they would return Pendrago in hopes of picking up their lost companions.  

Of course, that was assuming they could convince an undoubtedly frantic Mikleo to leave. They had to know their precious Shepherd had survived the fall, but he suspected that would mean little to someone who had made it his personal mission to protect Sorey at all costs.

Thinking of it, he was surprised none of the other seraphim had attempted to return to their vessel. At the very least, he would have expected Mikleo to appear at his friend’s side in an instant. Distance made little difference to the Pact; a seraph could return to their blessed vessel from anywhere, as long as the link was still valid. 

And the seraph holding it was still alive.

He touched one hand to his hat, tilting it low as he bared his teeth. “If those fools managed to get Rose killed, I’m going to resurrect their asses just so I can kill them again.”

Sorey had regained consciousness and was sitting up by the time Dezel returned to his side. He had one hand pressed to the bandage about his thigh, the other hung by his side, likely still sore from Dezel’s ministrations. His body was bowed with pain, every muscle tightened protectively, but the constant movement of his head told the wind seraph that the Shepherd was awake and alert. Dezel halted a few steps away, Sorey’s sword dangling from one hand—he had found it embedded in a stream on his way back.

“Good, you’re awake. We’d better get moving,” he said, tossing the sword at Sorey’s outstretched feet. The human jumped as the weapon clattered to the ground, and he stared at it a moment before looking about in earnest.

“Mikleo?” he called uncertainly. “Lailah?”

Dezel frowned. “What the hell, Sorey, it’s me.”

The boy jerked his head in Dezel’s direction, facing him squarely. Then he braced himself against the ground, pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, and carefully picked up his sword. “Edna? Dezel?” He continued his roaming gaze, sword held tensely in his right hand, his tone rising with obvious unease. “Guys?”

Dezel stood stock still, a tendril of dread snaking down his spine.

The Shepherd was resonance-blind. He could neither see nor hear him. He had no idea Dezel was there at all.


	3. Chapter 2.5: An Interlude

**Chapter 2.5: An Interlude**

“We have to go find them.”

Edna’s boot thumped against the ground. “Meebo, if you say that one more time, I’ll toss you over the cliff myself.”

Mikleo glared at her. He was crouched next to Rose, blue energy pouring from his hand into an angry burn on her arm. “We can’t just leave them down there. They could be hurt.”

“What are you going to do, jump down after them?”

Mikleo coloured. “Of course not. You’re an earth seraph, can’t you do something?”

“Sure. I’ll just collapse a whole cliffside into a staircase. Easy-peasy,” Edna deadpanned. A frustrated sound escaped the water seraph in response. A few steps away, Lailah absentmindedly folded a scrap of paper into an origami butterfly; small paper crafts tended to help her think while she was distressed.

As their two companions had tumbled out of sight, the drake had rounded on the rest of the group, drawn to their sudden shouts of dismay. Edna had done her best to hold off the creature’s fiery breath and battering limbs with walls of earth and stone while Lailah took charge of a distraught Mikleo and an incensed Rose, herding them back towards the lower slopes of the Hunting Grounds and away from the hellion’s domain. They were currently huddled near the entrance to the grassy knoll, tending to their wounds and trying to figure out a plan.

Now Lailah spoke up, interrupting the argument between the two seraphim. “Mikleo, even if we returned, there’s no way to reach the coast below from up here. At best, we would likely draw the attention of the drake again, and this time without the Shepherd’s domain to counter it. It would be foolishness,” she explained, as gently as she could. She tucked the finished butterfly into a pocket. “And Sorey and Dezel would know that. It’s much more likely that they’d try to return to Pendrago.”

Mikleo’s shoulders slumped, his hand dropping from Rose’s newly-healed arm. “I know that. But…I can’t sense Sorey at all, even to try to return to him.” He looked up at the Prime Lord, his violet eyes looking very young. “What about you?”

Lailah shook her head, silvery hair waving back and forth. “I’m afraid not. My bond with him remains intact, but something seems to have disrupted it. I can’t return to him, nor sense him to find him.” She clasped her hands in front of her, contrite. “I’m sorry.”

Edna poked Mikleo with her umbrella. “We can still feel him, Meebo. There’s no need to cry.”

“I am  _ not _ crying!”

Rose appeared between the two, a hand appearing on either of Mikleo’s and Edna’s shoulders. “Sorry to break this up, but Lailah, weren’t you talking about a Crucible earlier? Those things concentrate malevolence, right?”

“Yes,” the fire seraph said, glancing across the field. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find one in this area.”

Mikleo placed a hand to his chin as he considered this. “It takes a pretty high concentration of malevolence to create a drake in the first place. Maybe the Crucible is boosting the strength of its domain.”

Rose stepped back, spinning a dagger about her fingertips with a grin. “Right! So if we find the Crucible and quell it, it might be easier to find Sorey and Dezel!”

Edna shrugged. “Could work. Beats wandering around trying to find them, I guess.”

Mikleo looked less convinced. “We don’t even know where the Crucible is, though. Wouldn’t our time be better spent looking for them?” His expression darkened. “That dragon hit Sorey hard. He could be hurt.”

“Baby dragon,” Edna remarked.

“Whatever!”

The earth seraph tapped the ground beneath them with her umbrella. “Listen, the land below the cliffs is a bunch of caverns and ledges. There’s no way to know exactly where they landed, especially since Dezel could have blown them anywhere along the shore when he slowed their fall. If we go wandering around trying to find them, we’ll probably miss them. Then we’ll just be wasting more time.” She punctuated her sentence by flicking her umbrella up to point at him; Mikleo hastily stepped back out of range. “Think it through.” Popping the parasol open, she spun on her heel, putting her back to him. “You’re not the only one who’s worried, you know,” she added under her breath.

“Yeah!” Rose slung an arm around Mikleo’s shoulders. “We’re supposed to be helping Sorey, not just letting him do all the work, right? Besides, Dezel will make fun of me if we do nothing but hang around and kill time.” She dropped her voice, her next words coming out deep and raspy, “’You guys just sit around waiting for us? Pathetic.’”

The corner of Mikleo’s mouth twitched upwards in a smile. “…That was pretty good.”

“We’ll have to be careful to stay as far out of the drake’s domain as possible while we search for the Crucible,” Lailah reminded them. “We should enter the fields from the eastern side and make our way around back to where we encountered it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Rose agreed. She picked up her other dagger, spinning them both around her hands before jamming them back into their sheathes, a cocky tilt to her hips. “All right! Let’s go find us a Crucible!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

**Dezel POV**

Balancing carefully on one leg, Sorey slid his sword back into its sheath on his right side. He tilted his head forward and pressed one hand to the front of his cloak. A whisper of wind through his lashes told Dezel he had his eyes shut. When he spoke again, his voice was calm.

“My leg didn’t bandage itself. I know you’re here—I can still feel you, even if I can’t see you. But I don’t know who you are.” A teasing note entered his voice. “Although, if it was Mikleo, he would have already found some way already to tell me how stupid I am. So, it’s not Mikleo.”

Dezel rolled his eyes. 

Sorey continued, “And your presence isn’t strong enough to be Lailah. Sorry,” he added as an afterthought. “Which leaves either Edna or Dezel.”

“Or a hellion about to eat your face,” Dezel grumbled, irritated. Sorey remained oblivious.

“And since you didn’t just impale me with an umbrella for comparing you to Dezel…” The Shepherd lifted his head and turned to face him.   
“…Dezel?”

In response, Dezel summoned a breeze that flipped the front of the long cloak over the Shepherd’s face. Sorey burst into laughter. 

“Well, that answers that,” he said as he tugged the cloak back down. “My head’s kinda fuzzy still, but I’m guessing you fell down here with me.” He tapped the bandage on his leg. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

Dezel said nothing. Sorey wouldn’t have been able to hear him, anyway. 

“That drake must have disrupted my resonance somehow, just like Heldalf and Cardinal Forton did.” There was a shuffling of material as he folded his arms and continued thoughtfully, “I definitely wasn’t expecting to run into a hellion that strong out in the fields. Its domain is still affecting me, even all the way down here.” He held out a hand. “But since I can still feel your presence, I’m hoping I’ll be able to hear you if I block enough of my senses. Give me your hand?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dezel grumbled under his breath.

Sorey waited patiently a few moments. Then he frowned. “Dezel. C’mon. Give me your hand. It helps establish the connection.” 

The wind seraph remained where he was, arms crossed, a skeptical look on his face. Then he sighed and placed his hand in Sorey’s outstretched palm. “Well, can you hear me now?”

Sorey perked up immediately. “Yeah! That’s good. I was starting to think I was going to have to hold my breath, too.” His tone became serious. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt in the fall as well?”

“Nothing serious. And I don’t think it was the fall that did you in; it was the kick that lizard gave you.”

Sorey ran a hand down his leg. “Yeah. That thing was way stronger than I thought. I hope the others got away okay.”

“You can’t tell?”

The Shepherd shook his head, his feather earrings rustling. “You’re the only one I can sense right now. I know my pact with Lailah is still intact, but that’s all.” His shoulders slumped and he turned his face away, towards the cliffs overhead. “Mikleo and the others are probably pretty worried about us. Rose, too. She worries about you, you know.”

Dezel snorted. “She should know better. Anyway, I’m not gonna die before I get my revenge, especially not from some stupid fall.”

“Heh. That’s true.” Sorey’s voice carried his smile. “So, what’s our plan from here?”

“That depends. You gonna be able to walk on that leg?”

Sorey slowly straightened the limb in question, settling his weight onto it carefully. “I should be all right. Actually, hang on…” He reached for one of the pouches on his belt, digging around for moment before holding up his hand triumphantly. “Aha! I knew I hadn’t given Rose all the gels.” 

Sorey popped one of the little medicines into his mouth, then extended his hand to offer one to Dezel. A faint whiff of peaches and medicine reached the wind seraph’s nose. He shook his head, then remembered Sorey couldn’t see him.

“It’s fine. I don’t need a gel.”

Sorey’s tone bore disapproval, his grip tightening. “You said ‘nothing serious’. That doesn’t mean you didn’t get hurt.”

“I told you, I’m fine. Besides, how many of those are you carrying?”

“Uh, three or four, I think?” There was a sound of rummaging again. “...Three apple and a peach.”

“Hold on to them for now. My healing abilities aren’t all that great. Keeping you from bleeding to death was about all I could manage.”

“And I appreciate it, believe me.” Sorey hesitated. “You’re sure you’re alright, then?”

“If I wasn’t, I would have returned to you by now, instead of hanging around out here,” Dezel pointed out.  

Apparently satisfied, Sorey slipped the little medicines back into his belt. He shifted his weight, testing his injured leg. “I’ll be okay to walk. We can’t stay here, that’s for sure.” He nodded his head towards the cliffs. “I can still feel that hellion’s domain, even like this. We don’t want to hang around here where it could find us. Especially since I probably can’t see it.”

“Yeah. Our best bet is probably to head up that way,” he pointed over Sorey’s shoulder, “along the coast and try to find a way back to Pearloats Pasture. Hopefully we’ll be far enough out of that thing’s range so that Lailah and the others can find us.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sorey agreed. “Uh…which way though?”

Sighing, Dezel dropped his hand and took him by the shoulders, carefully turning Sorey in the direction he had pointed. “I got used to you all being able to see me. I forgot how annoying this can be.”

“I don’t like it either. I’ve always been able to see and hear seraphim, ever since I was a little kid. To suddenly not be able to is…it feels like....”

“Going blind?” Dezel supplied wryly. 

Sorey whipped back around to face Dezel. “I didn’t mean--I’m sorry,” he said in a rush. 

Dezel shrugged, then realized his error. He reached out and gripped Sorey by the shoulder. “I can see better with the wind than I ever could by using my eyes. But we can’t exactly frolic hand in hand all the way back to Pendrago, and you can’t seriously think we won’t encounter a single hellion between here and there. Not with a domain that strong hanging about. This place is probably crawling with hellions.”

“I think we’ll be alright. I can still sense the malevolence, even if I can’t see it.” Sorey put his hands on his hips, voice light with bravado. “I’ll just fight like I always do, and count on you to watch my back.” 

“Heh,” Dezel bared his teeth in an echoing smile, “You make it sound so simple.”

The shoulder beneath his hand lifted in a shrug. “We’ll manage. Besides, I’m sure the further away we get from that hellion’s domain, the quicker my resonance will come back. We’ll think of something if I need to find you in the meantime.” 

Dezel stayed where he was as Sorey stepped away. Even before he’d joined their little group, Dezel had learned it was just as important to pay attention to what Sorey did as to what he said. With the smallest gesture, he guided the breeze over Sorey’s retreating form, ghosting it over his face, his limbs, gently probing the wound on his right side, and listening to what it told him. It was something he had done with others a hundred times before. He’d become adept at reading the wind quickly, deducing things with a combination of intuition and experience, but if he took the time to really listen, the wind would paint a complete picture in his mind, down to the smallest detail. He could describe whole crowds, individual by individual, simply by guiding the wind among them and feeling its impressions, a silent, unnoticed observer.

So it was with no small amount of surprise that he found Sorey turning back in his direction, his earrings and cloak ruffling with the movement. The breeze across his face told him the Shepherd’s eyes were on him, a small smile on his face.

“Dezel, I told you: I’m fine. You don’t have to worry,” Sorey said gently, “Although I appreciate your concern.”

Dezel stood stunned for a moment, then tugged his hat low over his eyes, grumbling denials Sorey couldn’t hear because he wasn’t  _ worried _ , he just didn’t trust the fool to look after himself. He’d heard about the complications with the previous Squire, and if Sorey didn’t think it was important to tell his companions when he’d been  _ losing his sight _ , Dezel wouldn’t put it past him to minimize an injury, either. 

This time, though, it seemed the Shepherd had been telling the truth; although he stepped carefully, there was little noticeable difference in the weight of his steps from side to side. The smell of blood had been muted, so seemed his limited first aid, with assistance from the restorative powers of the peach gel, had been enough. There was still some noticeable stiffness in his left arm, but that was all right; Sorey mostly wielded his weapon with his right hand anyway. Dezel would simply have to make sure to cover him on his weaker side for now.

It wasn’t concern, it was prudence, Dezel thought as he began striding after the Shepherd, shortening his long gait so as to stay just behind and to his left.  Losing Sorey meant losing the armatus, after all. 


	5. Chapter 4

**Sorey POV**

 

One hour and several enemy encounters later, Sorey was beginning to understand why Rose’s initial reaction when meeting the seraphim had been fear. He could sense Dezel, and if he looked out of the corner of his eye he could even sometimes see a shadow of movement, but it disappeared when he tried to look directly at him. 

In combat, the seraph manifested as violent cyclones and devastating crosswinds, conjured seemingly from nowhere and minutely controlled by an unseen force. Even outside of battle, Dezel’s presence was evident: the disturbance of dirt beneath silent footsteps, the shift of any object he moved or touched, the way the wind seemed to be drawn to him, curling and spiraling in unnatural currents around him. It was like there was a void in the landscape. And even though he knew Dezel couldn’t ‘see’ him, there was a definite feeling of being watched.

It was…disconcerting, and Sorey had grown up with the seraphim. He could only imagine what it had been like for Rose, with her powerful resonance, to constantly feel the presence of one she was unable to see.

He quickly realized that it wasn’t just Dezel’s seraphic essence that was hidden from him. Almost as soon as they had set off, they had encountered their first batch of hellions…only they hadn’t looked like hellions to Sorey. Even though he could still sense the malevolence that saturated them, his eyes told him they were facing off against wild dogs...enormous wild dogs that made the earth shift and crack, whose howling caused a sick trembling in his gut and who seemed to spontaneously burst into flame with no explanation that his visual senses could see.

This was how most of the humans saw hellions. He thought back to Alisha’s description of an accursed world falling into chaos, before he’d ever set foot in the world below Elysia, and once again felt a desperate heartbreak. To live in a world of madness, where your mind couldn’t explain the things your senses were telling you…

And it was no better for those who  _ could _ see the true forms of seraphim and hellions. All they had to look forward to was a lifetime of being considered pariahs and heretics, ridiculed for their adamant belief that there was more to the world than could be seen.

Sorey felt his chest tighten. They were missing so  _ much _ . The seraphim he had grown up with were as diverse as the human populations he had met: a myriad of personalities and gifts and culture. Stern and powerful like Gramps. Kind and sharp like Mikleo. Wild and perplexing like Zaveid. 

And as long as the humans continued to ignore the seraphim, the seraphim had no means or reason to reach out to humans either. Two worlds intertwined that couldn’t speak, hear, or touch each other. 

And the Shepherd that stood with one foot on either side...

His reverie was broken when something tiny pinged off the back of his head. He turned to face the source, and felt Dezel’s gloved hand rest on his shoulder.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, save it for when we find the others,” the wind seraph’s gruff tone came from somewhere just above his shoulder; Sorey no longer had to shut his eyes to hear his voice. “It’s bad enough that you can’t see the hellions. If you’re distracted, you’ll be dead without even knowing what hit you.”

Sorey gave him a rueful smile, scratching at one cheek sheepishly. “Heh. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” He cast a glance at the ground, and noticed a speck of green. “What was this you hit me with?” 

He tried to bend down for a closer look. His leg trembled, protesting the sudden movement, and Dezel muttered something under his breath as Sorey pitched forward dangerously, snatching a handful of his cloak to keep him upright. Half-suspended, Sorey reached down and picked up the object, examining it: it was a remarkable opaque green and a little larger than his thumbnail, lighter than a rock and smooth at the edges. 

A jerk at the back of his cloak hauled Sorey back into a standing position. “It was just a bit of sea glass.”

“Sea glass?”

“A broken piece of glass that’s been in the ocean for a while. The current tosses it about, and eventually it gets rubbed smooth. You’ve never seen it before?”

“I’ve…never really spent any time near the ocean before. I grew up in the mountains, so I only ever saw the sea from a distance.” He held up the piece of glass so that it caught the afternoon light. 

“There’s a bit of a market for it among humans. Artists like to use it for jewellery and things like that.”

“I can see why. It’s beautiful.” He glanced at the empty air beside him. “Can I keep it?”

Dezel snorted. “Sure. It’s not that rare. Felice picks up pieces all the time when the Sparrowfeathers travel by the coast.” 

“I want to show it to Mikleo. He’ll never have seen sea glass before, either.” Sorey tucked the fragment into one of his belt pouches. “Thanks, Dezel.” 

He heard a rustle of material, and suspected Dezel was shrugging. “Sure, I guess.” The hand shifted at his back, but the wind seraph didn’t immediately pull away. “Leg bothering you?”

“Ah, yeah, a bit. Probably shouldn’t have tried to bend down so fast.” Sorey gripped the bandage at his thigh a bit tighter for a moment, then straightened. “I’m fine, though. We should keep moving.”

Dezel was silent. “…Take one of the gels if you need it,” he said at last. “And think before you go getting all excited. I’m not carrying you all the way back to Pearloats Pasture if you fall on your face.”

Sorey grinned. “I got it. Thanks for worrying about me.” 

He heard a dismissive ‘hmmph’, and the hand dropped away from between his shoulder blades. Obediently, Sorey flicked open another pouch on his belt and consumed the second peach gel. As the medicine dissolved on his tongue, he felt some of the throbbing ache recede from his muscles. His steps became more solid and the limp he had been developing decreased as they continued over the crags and ocean detritus strewn over the rocky shoreline. 

Still, a raw burning lingered in the wound, resisting both Dezel’s spell and the healing effects of the gel. He brushed his fingers against the bandage, frowning with concern, and fed a bit more of his power into it, feeling his blessing weave its way through the muscle and purging any corruption still clinging to it. And somehow the wound still did not feel cleansed, something inside resisting his efforts to chase it out.  It troubled him, but there was little he could do about it right now. If the Shepherd couldn’t purify the wound, there was only one other person who could. And to reach Lailah, they had to return to Pendrago, the sooner, the better.

 

* * *

 

A short while later, Sorey stood atop a jutting rock, his hands on his hips and a considering look on his face. Ten feet in front of him, the coastline vanished into a wide stream that began somewhere below the tall cliff walls and fed into the sea. Jagged masses of rock broke the water’s surface at random intervals, disturbing the rushing flow. On the other side of the stream, only a thin patch of coastline wrapped around the sheer cliff face.

“Uh, correct me if I’m wrong,” he said aloud, “But I think we’re running out of beach.”

A now-familiar weight settled on his shoulder. “What’s the point of having sight if you don’t even use it? Look up, above the water.”

Sorey obediently tilted his head back and scanned the area on the other side of the estuary. His eyes carefully roamed the tall embankment until he saw it: a ridge jutting out from the rock, some twenty feet above their heads, winding along the cliff face before disappearing out of view. “Is that…a path?”

“Seems like it. It’s broad enough to walk on, anyway.”

Sorey grimaced slightly. “I hate to say it, but I don’t think I can handle a climb like that with my leg like this.” He rested a hand along his thigh; the muscles were trembling. “It looks like it would be a tough climb even with two working legs.”

“No problem,” Dezel said, “We’ll just armatize. We can clear a jump like that with the armatus.”

Sorey shook his head emphatically, feather earrings rustling in his hair. “No. I don’t think armatization is a good idea.”

“Why not?” Dezel demanded.

Sorey tapped the bloodied bandage. “This. If we armatize, you take on the same condition as me, including my injuries. And armatization can take a heavy toll on the host. We should save it for if we really need it.”

For a moment, Dezel said nothing. Sorey could feel the weight of his scrutiny, even without being able to see him. At last, Dezel growled, “Fine. Then how do you suggest we get up there?”

“Welllll……” Sorey crossed his arms in thought, his eyes fixed on the opposite bank. “I’m…not really sure.”

He heard a sigh. “Well, we sure as hell can’t do anything from this side.” The hand on Sorey’s shoulder lifted, rendering Dezel’s presence silent again, and leaving him completely unprepared as an arm hooked itself about his waist and lifted him off his feet. He gave a rather undignified squawk as he left the ground.

“Hey! What are you—?”

“Shut up,” was the only response, and then they were hurtling from rock to rock, the water beneath them a blur with the speed of Dezel’s windstepping. The wind whistled in Sorey’s ears as he was jostled in Dezel’s hold, and for a moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of the black jacket and silver-green hair. Then he was abruptly deposited on his feet again, stumbling slightly against the wind seraph, who kept hold of his shoulders as he regained his balance. Straightening his cloak and swordbelt, Sorey cast a glance at the air behind him.

“What? If you aren’t up to armatizing, you weren’t going to be able to cross that either,” Dezel snapped defensively.

Sorey smothered a grin. “Right. Thanks.” 

He turned his head to glance at their new surroundings. The small strip of land was as unhelpful as it as had appeared from across the water, but now Sorey could see what had been hidden from them on the other side: a rocky sandbar, leading to the mouth of a cave set into the cliff wall. “Hey…”

“Yeah. I think it’s a tunnel; there’s too much air movement for it to just be a cave. It opens up somewhere on the other end, hopefully somewhere near that overhead path.”

Sorey quirked an eyebrow at him. “You knew that was there the whole time, didn’t you.”

“Hmmph. I could hear the wind blowing across the cave mouth. You would have too, if you’d bothered to think about it.”

“Heh. I don’t know about—“ 

Sorey’s response was interrupted by a savage snarling. He spun to towards the cliff face and saw several large, wolf-like animals baring their fangs at them. One let out a howl that lifted the hairs from Sorey’s neck, then the whole pack darted down the cliffside. Without a second thought, he pulled his sword from its sheath, but a solid pressure on his shoulder pulled him up short.

“After me, Sorey.” The pressure lifted, and Sorey felt a rush of wind as Dezel darted forward into battle. Immediately, the wolf at the head of the pack was smashed aside by an unseen force. The wind howled and raged as remaining wolves circled up, surrounding the torrential storm that was Dezel’s power. Sorey could just barely hear the crack and whistle of his pendulum chains, catching flashes of black, green and silver as the seraph lashed out at the hellions with his usual ferocity. 

Two of the animals broke away from the pack, rounding on Sorey, and he crouched, ready. The first leapt at him, and he dealt it a harsh slash to the underbelly, spinning on his heel to toss the beast over his shoulder with its own momentum. Turning, he slashed upwards at the second wolf’s face and felt his blade glance off the wolf’s bared fangs, the vibrations travelling up his hands and leaving a dull ache in his arms. His leg trembled warningly as he braced himself for a second encounter, and he flexed his left hand carefully—his strikes from the left were weaker.

Another of the creatures flew across the battlefield and thudded against the ground a few steps away. Out of the corner of his eye, Sorey saw the wolf’s true form – huge, bunched muscles, a flaming ruff and twin fire-tipped tails—before it burst into flames and vanished. A second wolf catapulted through the air and impacted the ground in a spray of dirt, but didn’t vanish. As it regained its feet, it apparently thought better of tangling with Dezel a second time, and bounded over to join its packmates closing in on Sorey.  Holding his sword at a defensive angle, Sorey began backing up towards the cave mouth, trying to buy some distance. 

The beasts followed, their motions slow and predatory, waiting for a sign of weakness. The wolf at the center crouched, ready to lunge, and Sorey raised his weapon in preparation. A sudden chill ran up his back, and the animals in front of him shrank back with a whine. Instinctively, Sorey leapt sideways, pushing hard off his right leg, just as earth beneath him exploded. He fell and rolled, throwing up an arm to shield his face as rocks and debris showered down on him. Peeking through through his bangs, he saw a large tree root protruding from the ground where he had been standing. When he looked back towards the cave mouth, he saw what appeared to be a pile of fallen trees at the entrance. Every other sense he possessed, however, told him exactly what they were: Treant hellions.

He hissed a curse --he’d almost walked right into them.

The pile of trees shifted, and he felt the earth beneath him tremble again, shuddering under the force of their massive roots. He gathered his feet beneath him, but a sharp pain shot through his right leg when he tried to stand. He ran a hand down his thigh—the muscles were twitching and the bandage felt damp beneath his fingers. Not good.

Encouraged by the scent of blood, the wolves raised a cry and prepared to strike. Gritting his teeth, Sorey shoved hard against the ground, bringing his good leg beneath him in a crouch. The sudden movement was all the provocation necessary, and the wolf-hellions hurled themselves at him, fangs bared. 

A violent wind sliced across the space in front of him, twisting the air itself into a barrier and throwing his attackers back as though they had impacted a wall. Blood seeped through their fur where the razor-sharp winds had cut them. Through the turbulence, Sorey heard Dezel’s voice, muted as though from far away: “Over here, scumbags!” A pendulum chain snapped in the air in challenge. 

Completely cut off from their intended target, the wolves surged towards the sound of Dezel’s voice, followed by a creaking of wood as the Treants followed suit, the fallen trees lumbering in strange patterns. Sorey shouted a warning, limping forward towards the wall of wind, but the force of it repelled him; he couldn’t reach the hellions any more than they could reach him. Frustrated, Sorey squinted against the wind, trying to catch a glimpse of the battle.

He was just able to discern the sounds of fighting now, the hissing and snarling of the hellions and the answering crack of Dezel’s pendulum chains as he taunted them. Sorey’s lip curled; Dezel was strong, more than capable of handling a few hellions on his own...but he tended to forget himself in the frenzy of battle: he was prone to taking chances and leaving himself open, willing to accept a few scars in favour of a vicious, decisive strike. For someone who kept himself under such tight control, his style of fighting was aggressive and reckless…and this was more than a just a few hellions.

Despite his efforts, his eyes refused to reveal anything; his resonance still hadn’t returned enough to see. Safe behind Dezel’s protective barrier, Sorey allowed his eyes to slip closed, hoping that would be all he would need to sharpen his senses. His vision cut off, he focused on sorting out the sounds he could hear on the battlefield.

The first sounds he picked out were the familiar ones. The crack of chains.  _ Virulance!  _ The snap of leather in the wind.  _ Magius!  _ The tingle of magic, raising the hairs on his arms.  _ Attack, foul beasts—Vengeant Fangs! _ Dezel’s voice was clearer to him now, standing at the center of the chaos, liberally doling out violence. 

Next, the wolf hellions. They were pretty easy to identify, listening bestial snarls and howls of rage as they were cut down. He could hear the crackle of the flames that adorned their fur and remembered with a grimace that Dezel didn’t know any water-based spells. No sooner had he finished the thought than he heard a high pitched whine cut off with the sound of combustion: a hellion disintegrating...no, two. The corner of his mouth quirked up—perhaps he was worried for nothing.

Now Sorey searched for the Treants. The groan of the earth beneath their roots and the creak of their bark were easy to lose in the background. He soon realized it was easiest to pick them out by matching the sounds with Dezel’s voice: when the attacking roots exploded beneath him, Sorey would inevitably hear Dezel’s taunting tone in a different location a moment later. He couldn’t distinguish their wind spells from Dezel’s, but he suspected it didn’t matter: Dezel was a master of his element. The chance that their winds could overpower his was small.

So then…where was the other prickle of magic coming from? Sorey could feel it, itching under his skin. He’d grown used to the gathering of power from the seraphim, each with its own flavour and strength. Dezel was a tingling that lifted the hairs from his arms as it raced over his skin, like the breeze in the mountains. Lailah was a bonfire blooming in his chest. Edna was a deep thrum within his bones, and Mikleo…Mikleo was water poured into his body, soothing and refreshing…but also the bracing first breath of winter air that made his lungs stutter.

This, though...this was needles, cold and sharp, pricking into his skin, with a low murmur just below the range of his hearing. Lowering the sword still clenched in his hand, Sorey struggled to find the source of the sound. He heard a wolf shriek and a Treant disintegrate into splinters, but the murmuring continued to press against his eardrums. Sorey’s expression tightened, listening hard. It wasn’t the wordless hum of magic, but more like some kind of chant…

Sorey’s eyes snapped open.  _ Sorcerer!  _

At that moment, a torrent of water exploded across the battlefield, engulfing the combatants. Sorey could see the silhouettes of two Treants as the water broke against them, locked in place by their deep roots. The remaining wolf was swept off its feet, letting out a shrill whine before disappearing in a muted burst of flame. Something else was washed aside and crashed against a rocky outcropping in the water, leaving spidery cracks in the rock face before dropping into the shallows with a splash. 

The roaring wind before him died away. Sorey stared hard at the spot where the water eddied, eyes wide with alarm, willing himself to see. “Dezel!” 

In response, he heard a pained curse that trailed off into a groan.

Gravel crunched as the Treants began closing in. Sorey lunged forward awkwardly, his face twisted in a grimace, stepping between the hellions and the fallen seraph. He reached into his belt and withdrew an apple gel, jamming it into his mouth as he lifted his sword. The sharp pain in his leg faded to a dull throb and he pushed it from his thoughts, watching the sand and shale move with the weight of his invisible opponents. 

Once again the cruelly pointed roots erupted from beneath the soil. This time Sorey was ready, deftly 

side-stepping out of range. Something caught the long tail of his cloak as he moved, and he spun towards it, lashing out with a three-step attack; splinters grazed his face as his blows struck home. He heard the creak of wood as the Treants rounded on him and rushed into Phantasm Flash, dashing between them. The tip of his blade only glanced off the tough bark as he passed, but that was all right; it wasn't the Treants he was looking for. A blistering hot cross-wind at his back lifted his cloak: Dezel's Hell Gate. The hellion trees let out a howl of anguish and Sorey bared his teeth in a grin -- Dezel wasn't down and out yet, it seemed.

He skidded to a stop, loose rocks flying, and listened. Undead spellcasters could vanish and reappear at will, but they couldn’t vanish and cast their spells at the same time. He waited, breathing harshly through his nose and straining his ears.

At first, he heard nothing. Then he felt it again: the sharp, cold needling of hellion magic, pricking at his skin. He held his ground as the low murmur of unholy chanting pressed against his eardrums, building until he thought they would pop from the pressure. Then he exploded into motion, skirting the corkscrew of water barrelling towards him and lunging forward into his attack. He swept his sword left and right, purifying blue fire streaming from his weapon, before driving a devastating upward strike straight into the sorcerer’s ribcage.

“Howling blade –  _ Bolt Tempest _ !”

He followed the sword strike up, carrying his enemy with him. At the apex of his leap, he felt the undead hellion’s bones give way and crumble as he banished the last of its tainted essence. Sorey tumbled down in a graceful spiral, landing in a swirl of azure flame that washed over the shore in a wave, chasing out the malevolence and finally revealing the truth of the scene to him: Dezel, standing ankle-deep in the shallows, the badly-beaten Treants at the mercy of his ferocious chain whips, and the lingering smoke of disintegrated hellions wisping across the battlefield. Despite the churning in his stomach as he became sensitized to the lingering malevolence in the area, Sorey smiled. For the first time since falling down the cliffside, his head felt clear.

And then his leg gave out. 

Sorey crumpled to the ground, molten pain racing up his leg from knee to hip as he curled in on himself with a stream of oaths that would have earned him a solid cuffing from Gramps. Pressing his hands to his thigh, he felt the torn cloth soaked with blood. The muscles burned and spasmed beneath his touch, hypersensitive and overused, and he let out his breath in a hiss. He shouldn’t have pushed it – but undead regenerated. He’d had to finish it in one blow. 

And honestly, he hadn’t thought it was this bad. But with his senses returned…

A hand seized his collar, hauling him back to his feet. “ _ Stupid, _ ” Dezel snarled at him. “You should have left them to me!”

“I—” Sorey broke off as a wave of nausea rolled through him. He shivered, breathing shallowly through his teeth as he rode it out. 

Dezel released his collar, shifting his hold to Sorey’s shoulders as he swayed on his feet, his head falling forward to resting lightly against hischest. Dezel’s clothes were soaked; Sorey could smell the salt clinging to them. “Don’t you _dare_ throw up on me,” the seraph grumbled. Sorey huffed a short laugh, gripping Dezel’s jacket sleeve for balance, and tried to ignore the way the darkness swirled beneath his closed eyelids.

Once he was certain he wasn’t going be sick, Sorey lifted his head and looked up. The wind seraph’s sharp teeth were clenched in barely-contained annoyance, and the opaque eyes were glaring at him from beneath his bangs. What caught his attention though, were the trails of crimson running down from beneath Dezel’s silvery hair and smeared beneath his nose. He glanced over his companion’s body as best he could; there were puffy scratch marks at Dezel’s neck, and long scuffs on the material of his heavy jacket. “You’re hurt,” he said simply. 

“You’re one to—” Dezel stopped, expression going slack with surprise. “You can see me.”

Sorey managed a small grin. “Yeah. I think I re-established my domain. My head feels clearer.”

Dezel raised his head, looking pensive. “Sounds right. I can’t sense the malevolence as strongly in this area any more.” He glanced back down at Sorey with a scowl. “You’re still an idiot.”

“Now you sound like Mikleo.”

“Don’t insult me.” He nodded down towards Sorey’s injured leg. “I need to look at that again.”

Sorey gripped the bandage over his thigh tightly. “I think I just overdid it. It should be fine in a bit.”

Dezel snorted. “I can smell the blood, Sorey. You’re  _ not _ fine.” He nodded towards the sea cave. “Let’s rest in there for a bit. Your domain should keep the hellions off us for the time being.”

They slowly made their way towards the gaping hole in the tall cliffs, Sorey shuffling awkwardly on his injured leg and leaning heavily against Dezel for support. As they walked, a warm breeze curled around them, running beneath Dezel’s jacket, lifting his shirt and ruffling his hair. By the time they stepped into the shadow of the cave, his clothes were completely dry.

The air in the cavern was damp and cool. A ledge ran along the left side of the cave, wide enough for three people to walk abreast. The sounds of water echoed within the tunnel, and the fading afternoon light cast shimmering reflections against the walls and ceiling. The stream was twice again as wide within the cavern as without, beginning somewhere deep within the passage and bubbling merrily as it raced towards the sea. 

Dezel deposited his charge against the wall several feet in from the entrance, well out of sight of passing monsters, and Sorey tried not to sigh with relief as he sank down to the ground. Dezel crouched beside him and reached for the bandaged leg, but Sorey pushed his hand away. 

“No, don’t. If it’s bleeding, we probably don’t want to take that off and make it worse, right?”

Dezel hummed in reluctant agreement but didn’t withdraw. “You probably tore the damn thing open further. Let me try healing it again.”

Sorey shook his head. “It’s okay. I think I just need to rest it for a bit and give it a chance to close up without moving it. Besides, you’re not in such great shape yourself.” He waved his hand in the direction of Dezel’s face and neck, indicating the blood and the angry red scratches that ran down his skin, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. “You sure you're in one piece?”

“Tch.” Dezel lifted his hands to either side of his neck. There was a pulse of green power, and the wounds  began to seal and vanish, the drying blood on his face fading away. “Seraphim aren’t as fragile as you humans. Growing up with our kind, you should know that.”

“I know, I know.  I’m pretty sure Mikleo’s so good at healing because I was always the one getting injured. But I couldn't  _ see  _ you,” Sorey reminded him. “I was kinda worried.”

Dezel’s expression was closed. “Don’t waste your time worrying about me.” He nodded his head in the direction of the dark tunnel. “I’m going to go on ahead, see where this thing leads. You stay here.”

Sorey frowned. “If you leave my domain, the hellions will come after you.”

“I can handle it. You still have any of those gels?”

“Two,” Sorey said, hand going to his belt.

“Good. If you won’t let me look at that,” Dezel waved a hand in the general direction of Sorey’s leg, “At least take one of those.” He stood up. “Your domain should keep any wandering hellions away from you for a bit. Try not to do anything stupid until I get back.”

Sorey offered a sharp grin. “Likewise.”

“Hmmph.” Dezel huffed, amused. He took a few steps down the passageway, and stopped. “Hey,” he said quietly, without turning around, “If you get in trouble, say my name.” 

The meaningful inflection told Sorey that he wasn’t talking about his usual alias. A seraph’s True Name was linked to their very identity. It was why they gave that knowledge to so few: a True Name had tremendous power. Sorey could say Dezel’s True Name from anywhere, and he would feel it.

Sorey nodded. “Okay.” 

“I mean it, Sorey.”

“I know. I promise,” he said, lifting his hands in surrender. He took out his well-loved copy of the Celestial Record, leaning back against the wall and opening it. “Look, see, not moving.”

“Tch. Better not, or I’ll chain you up so tight you can’t lift a finger.” Pendulum twirling about his hand, the seraph vanished into the darkness. 

Sorey waited until Dezel’s footsteps had receded and he was certain he was beyond the range of the seraph’s extraordinary senses. Then a heavy breath escaped him and he collapsed in on himself, shoulders slumping and head dropping onto his chest. There was a gentle thump as Celestial Record fell from his fingers to the ground. Exhaustion and pain were etched clearly across his features as he closed his eyes and simply breathed.

When he’d recovered himself enough, Sorey leaned forward and pressed his hands to the bandage on his leg, blue fire glowing between his fingers. A sweat quickly broke out on his forehead, and his hands began to shake. After a few moments, he fell back against the wall, feeling worse than before. 

He’d suspected. And with his domain restored, there was no doubt. Malevolence was festering deep within the injury from the drake, and it was sapping his strength, both physical and spiritual. Purifying it would take more strength than he had in him now, and it was only getting worse. 

He cast a tired eye down the passage. He’d have to try and minimize Dezel’s contact with the wound; malevolence was drawn to seraphic power. Dezel, hellbent on revenge and seething with rage, was already predisposed to becoming a hellion. If Sorey couldn’t contain the malevolence, it could very well spread, corrupting Dezel’s essence. His fingers scraped along the ground as he curled a hand into a fist. He’d never let that happen. 

He rested his hand just above the wound and stared dully at the shimmering patterns on the cavern ceiling, eyelids drooping. They just had to return to Pendrago while he still had the strength to prevent it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. I do have this story all mapped out, it's just a matter of stealing time to write it out between two jobs! :P As always, please feel free to offer comments or criticisms -- I've noticed in particular I have a bad habit of flipping between capitalizing and not capitalizing the word 'seraphim'! (oops)
> 
> P.S. Happy Valentines day, especially to all my fellow aces! May you all experience love in the way you enjoy best <3


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